


Don't Take Me For Granted

by ProblematicPancakes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abduction, Age Difference, Aggression, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Awkward Blow Jobs, Azkaban, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Boys' Love, Car Chases, Car Sex, Character Death, Crimes & Criminals, Crossdressing, Dark Magic, Dark Mark, Death Eaters, Dementors (Harry Potter) - Freeform, Developing Relationship, Disasters, Drug Dealing, Drugs, Drugs Made Them Do It, Drunk Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, First Time Blow Jobs, Foot Jobs, Forced Marriage, Forced Prostitution, Forced Relationship, Gang Rape, Gang Violence, Gangsters, Gen, Girls with Guns, Gun Violence, Guns, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Hogwarts, London, Love, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Love/Hate, M/M, Magic, Ministry of Magic, Murder, Name Changes, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Office Sex, Organized Crime, Patronus, Physical Abuse, Prostitution, Public Blow Jobs, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex, Rape, References to Drugs, Rough Sex, Sex Change, Sex Toys, Sexual Violence, Shooting Guns, Shower Sex, Spells & Enchantments, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Wands, new world order
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProblematicPancakes/pseuds/ProblematicPancakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being shunned from the wizarding community, Harry Potter finds himself in an environment he has never imagined himself in. A new lifestyle, new acquaintances, new goals in life. Where will this take him? (Yaoi, Yuri, Straight, generally this story is filled with sex, violence and swear words. You're reading this at your own risk. OOC, slightly AU, non-canon/alternative ending)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

If anyone asked Harry Potter five years ago where he saw himself at 18, he would probably say something along the lines of _I will be doing an internship in the Auror's Department at the Ministry_ or maybe _I will be travelling the world in the search of a permanent solution to the black magic problem_. Not even in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he will be kneeling in a dark room, having a dick shoved in his mouth at a gagging speed, accompanied by applause and mocking laughter. It got to a point where he no longer knew whether he felt sick because of the cock pushing into his asophagus or because of the odour which came with it. Or maybe it was just the food he ate for make-shift dinner yesterday – two tuna sandwiches and half a bottle of Sprite which he dug up from a Tesco's dustbin, somewhere down in Kingston.

 

Was this better than sleeping out in the cold, windy streets of London? He couldn't say. Partially, because his ability to speak was muffled by the presence of another man's manhood in between his teeth. Partially, because really he didn't give a shit anymore. Not even a half, not even a quarter. At times he had episodes of thoughts where he would contemplate over the pile of crap that his life turned into. How did he get here? What caused all of this? What would have happened if he hasn't done _it_?

 

His thought process was abruptedly halted by the sudden erruption of disgustingly salty semen into his mouth, causing him to choke. If he didn't know the threat of being shot or stabbed was lingering over him, he would have advised his _partner_ to consume more fruit in the future to improve the taste. He read about that in a _Cosmopolitan_ which some middle-class Asian woman left on one of the seats in London Bridge Station. These days it took twice as much to collect two and a half pounds for a train fare. Why didn't he think of doing this for money before? Could save him a lot of time and pride – well, at least before he lost the last remains of the latter.

 

At this point in time there was nothing in this world that Harry James Potter, aged 18, would refuse to do. Which is probably why he has found himself in this room amongst strangers, the kind you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley at midnight, coming back smashed from a night at a Soho club, especially if you were one of them cunts who carried both a Kindle and an iPad in your Michael Kors handbag. Harry didn't even have a clean pair of boxers to his name, let alone a toy for spoiled, Muggle teenagers, so he felt relatively safe, hugging the brick wall covered in piss. That is, until a colourful mob approached him with a harsh, army-shoe kick to the sheen as a hello. _Didn't momma tell you it's dangerous to be out at night by yourself?_

 

He remembered clearly being yanked up and slapped across the face with an empty bottle of Heineken, then thrusted against the wall. He supposed that's the point at which his vision should have gone blurry, if it wasn't for the fact that he had to pawn his glasses to get a winter coat from the charity shop. Yes, around today passed three months since the last time Harry Potter has seen the world in more than just blobs of colours – mostly greys, reds and greens, the colours of everyday life in the British capital.

 

Like a deja vu, he was yanked up again, this time by a pair of deeply scarred, most likely once feminine hands, with a chipped off, dirty red nail polish. Looking at her face, all that Harry could make out was some sort of a brunette hairstyle and black marks on the face. Other blobs surrounded her in an unarranged fashion. Harry hoped she wasn't going to ask him to lick her out or, worse yet, fuck her. From an early age of being a toddler, young Potter strongly detested vaginas. They reminded him of over-boiled hot dogs, the kind that Aunt Petunia got him for his sixth birthday. To his relief, the girl kept a strong hold on his collar. _What's your name?_

 

For a second he forgot. He forgot that he was The Boy Who Lived, that he was the famous Harry Potter, the hope of the wizarding community. Secretely he was pleading that his name was Peter Wilson or maybe Kevin Finnigan, but no. _Harry. Harry Potter._

 

_What's that scar?_ Oh that. He forgot all about it. A lot of people had scars. Fall off a swing or have an unfortunate accident during Quidditch, have a tree branch smacked across your head. Scars were everyday things, it's not like Harry had a third head. And yet that scar, that bloody mark, was the first thing that people noticed about him. It was like having a twenty pound note stuck to your forehead, everyone's curious about it. _I've had it since I was small. Long story._

 

Who was it who said that him and Riddle were similar? He couldn't recollect the face at this precise moment. At that time he couldn't comprehend that statement, he though it was absurd, how could he and his mortal enemy be in any way equals? And now he was following in his footsteps, like a bad sequel, he lingered like a bad smell after the most dangerous wizard of the time has been eradicated. He was gone, and so was the need for Harry Potter, the saviour.

 

_Sit down, on that couch._ He didn't know there was a couch in the room. Well, it was more like a basement. From the intensity of the light he predicted naked bulbs, the kind he had in the cupboard at Privet Drive, and a complete lack of windows. The stuffy smell of unventilated, moist space mixed with the smell of sex and dirt and blood. And it smelt good. _You don't seem to want to escape._

 

_Should I?_ He questioned, cheekily. It was a risky move. For all he knew they could chop him into pieces here and now, they seemed like they had no remorse, nothing was holding them back. In a way, Harry was like that as well. They could kill him right now and he wouldn't give a shit. The rush of adrenaline probed him to continue. _I don't have anywhere to go to anyway._

 

In the distance a soft sound of undistinguished music unfolded, catching Harry offguard. To be honest, it didn't matter what it was, anything was better than the music he had to suffer through at the Burrow, back when he still had _friends_. Funny that, friends, the concept of friendship. Harry wondered whether those _friends_ of his were just looking for an opportunity to get rid off him? Because he certainly handed that to them on a fucking silver platter. Ungrateful bastards.

 

_You'll stay here._ A different, higher female voice spoke, reminding Harry of his Year 5 Maths teacher. Looking back, she was a good piece of arse, long, blonde hair, what looked like double-D cups and legs to die for, but all of that was ruined by her annoying voice and the impression she had of all children being mentally impaired to the point where they couldn't hold a pencil on their own. Primary school wasn't exactly the best time of his life. _And you will follow my orders._ Potter was desperately trying to make out where the voice was coming from, trying to locate the pair of mouth from which the sounds were coming out. It was bloody annoying not knowing who your superior was, especially in an environment like this. _I'm over here, you scum._

 

_I'm sorry, I can't see. I need glasses._

 

And for a second he forgot he was Harry Potter. For a second he forgot he was in a shady, crime-ridden basement in an unknown location. For a second he forgot he was The Boy Who Lived, shunned from the wizarding community for killing the last remaining members of his genealogical tree.  


	2. II

Harry Potter was absolutely and utterly glad to be able to make out the shape of his dick once again. Not that it was anything unusual, to a man of his age to have a dick, but seeing a blurry blob for over three months could deflate even Hugh Hefner's ego.

 

The teen found himself in a different room, this time actually _a room_ , with windows and everything, and they even had lamp shades – although mismatched. Courtesy of the landlord, the heaters were clearly on, compensating for the leaky roof over his head. The pillows and duvets must have housed drug addicts in them before, being covered in what looked like blood and other human substances. With disgust, Harry grabbed a long, thin needle through the sheets and carefully dropped it into the make-shift bin, commonly known as a plastic bag, slightly ripped.

 

It was definitely better than living in the streets. London rats were not exactly the friendliest creatures – Harry thought even PETA wouldn't be interested in saving those disgusting rodents. They got really brave over the past few decades, or so Harry heard during one of his mingling sessions with the resident hobos of Victoria Station. Damn, those guys were better informed and more accurate than BBC's morning news! Young Potter was certain that there were rats present in this building as well, but thankfully he hasn't spotted any yet – maybe because only a few hours ago he has regained his sight. He bloody hated rats, and he wondered whether it was just the general perception slash stereotype of the animals, or whether it had something to do with his previous encounters with the animagus Peter Pettigrew.

 

His sexual frustration was gratified as he came onto the plain, purple sheets, his eyes rolling back and his hand mindlessly pumping his manhood. It was a good time. It would have lasted a lot longer if the door to the room didn't swing open at the speed of light,with a sharp face appearing in the void. _Scabby, pull your knickers up and get a move on._ The girl, apparently known as 'Queen' amongst her fellows, had long, chocolate hair, blue eyes and a dramatic eyeliner that made her look like she belonged in California rather than Kensington. Despite the freezing cold outside she was wearing a belly top with leggings. Her feet were bare, the toe nails painted in what was known as french manicure. But the aura about her was fishy, something was not right about her. As if she knew more about you than you knew yourself.

 

_I'm coming._ Harry replied, hastily doing up the button on a new pair of trousers he has received. They were a size too big around the waist, but otherwise fit well, and had two pockets at the back, the kind in which you could carry your keys or a kilogram of amfetamine. One or the other, because both clearly wouldn't fit into one.

 

_I think you already did that, didn't you?_ Queen looked Harry up and down and spun around as she noticed him getting up from the bed. _You need a cut... And maybe some McDonald's. But follow me for now._

 

_Where are you taking me?_ Harry questioned, careful not to step on the miscallaneous bits of glass and plastic scattered across the carpeted steps which seemed to continue on into the darkness. There were no pictures on the walls, from what he could make out, and there was only a small hint of light, creating shadows on the stairs. Clearly the occupants were too busy with other things to care about the state in which their accomodation was in.

 

_Watch out, the light gets bright here._ The girl pushed the door open and, as she said, a sudden wave of artificial light hit Harry's eyes like a lighting bolt, making him squint. It seemed like a shock therapy to him, maybe they were testing his limits. He didn't know, all he knew was that once his eyes adjusted to the brightness he saw a room full of mismatched furniture and mismatched people. There were people of all different shapes and colours, natural and coloured hair, piercings, tattoos and cute dresses, army boots and Air Forces and high heels the size of Voldemort's wand. It would look like a church group, if not for the fact that there were chains and guns and knives lying around like they were flower pots, and instead of tea and biscuits there was beer and crisps on the table. The room was peculiarly silent as Harry scanned it with his green eyes, trying to remember each face. There couldn't have been more than twenty of them there, but the way in which they were spaced out made it seem like they were a whole army.

 

The room seemed to be a living room, there was a window, one of those big, Victorian ones, but the curtains were drawn, probably to prevent the outsiders from peeking inside. _Guys, this is Scabby. He is our new meat in the area. Don't treat him too harshly._

 

A volcano of laughter erupted, with some people high fiving or spudding each other, whistling or shouting incomprehensible words. It reminded Harry of the Gryffindors' Common Room when they have won a Quidditch match and he would be thrown in the air by a crowd of hands while they were chanting his name. But this time it was different – those people weren't his housemates, at least not in _that_ sense, they were older, equipped with weaponery and didn't have a clue about a bunch of wizards running around with wands behind the walls of one of London's pubs.

 

It didn't take long before he was pushed to sit down on a red couch, in between a man and a woman, judging around twenty-two years of age by their faces. They were very similar to each other, both blonde, with smart eyes and straight noses, a bit of redness around the nostrils and a vast majority of their visible body covered in colourful tattoos. They introduced themselves as _Sharpie_ and _Bonnie_. Harry thought it was odd, not knowing anyone's actual name, but he supposed he was growing used to it by now. Names didn't matter in this world, after all.

 

He felt a bit plain in the mix, with his white t-shirt and navy blue trousers. Sharpie was wearing a black pair of skinnies, ripped on the thighs, some sort of a glittery top and a black, leather jacket. All of that was decorated by large, golden hoops and a maching chain, making her look ghetto and high-end at the same time. Bonnie, on the other hand, was wearing grey trackies with a matching hoodie, and wore a pair of chunky headphones around his neck. The cord didn't seem to be plugged in into anything really, it must have been worn as a decoration or a habit which he had. What was perhaps the most peculiar about his attire was the choice of shoes, high, black Dr Martens, but Harry supposed that was solely to satisfy the general need of feet protection required in schemes like this one. He wondered if he'll be made to wear boots like that as well.

 

_So what is he for?_ A short, ginger girl with breast out of proportion queried, as she cupped Harry's face in between her hands. The left one was cold, the right – warm. His clean shaved face was irritated by her numerous silver rings. Somehow young Potter was unable to force himself to look the girl in the eye. She ran her thumb over his cheek in an affecionate matter. _He's got quite a face._

 

_Cat said he should go to the City._ Queen walked over to the pair and looked Harry straight into the eyes. _They claim you can smell his preference from a mile away, and we haven't had those in a while now. Plus,_ she stopped, looking over meaningfully to the right, but at no person in particular. _Loco said he's proper good at it as well._

 

_Ahh, lucky bitch!_ Big Boobs gave Harry a soft slap across the face and straightened herself. She acquired a dramatic pose, like something out of Shakespeare, with one hand on the forehead and the other across the abdomen. _I was sent to the South East, the things you see there, the people, ugh!_ She seemed to shake at the very thought of that experience. Harry was slowly catching on to what he was being asked to do.

 

_Don't pretend like you didn't enjoy that time in your life, Poppy. After a few months you were practically begging Cat to send you to one of those rats._ Queen forced herself down in between Sharpie and Harry, putting her arm over his shoulders. _Say, how much experience do you have?_

 

_Experience?_ Harry swallowed harshly, feeling a lump growing in his throat. Experience in _what_ exactly? He was hoping it didn't mean what he think it meant. He had plenty of experience in stealing, lying, killing and getting out of trouble, he knew how to work his charm and he used to have plenty of acquaintances ready to sacrifice their own lives to save his goddamn arse. But if it was about _that_...

 

_Sex, Scabby!_ The brunette yelled to the general satisfaction of the rest of the mob. _Fucking, shagging, making love, whatever you want to call it, apparently you suck like a pro, you must have turned plenty of booties on that dick of yours, haven't you?_

 

_Not particularly._ Harry murmured, making the whole room go quiet in an instant. They seemed to wait for the continuation like an audience in a theatre, when the climax of the play was about to unfold. Harry was the lead character, the main role who was about to drop the most important line of the script. _I'm actually a virgin. I- I only kissed, like, twice in my whole life._

 

_It's not like it's bloody rocket science!_ Bonnie spoke up for the first time and stood up, untying his pants. Apparently he liked a bit of air as there was nothing underneath them. No one apart from Harry seemed to be shocked by this sudden outburst of exhibitionism. _Look, this is a dick, this is the butthole, you put one in the other and that's sex. Simples._

 

_Wait, are you saying I'm meant to be a prositute... For gay people?_ This was beyond Harry's scope of comprehension. Sure, he wasn't a big fan of vaginas, but then it wasn't like he had a special affinity for dicks either, it was all really unimportant to him during puberty, with all of that chasing Voldemort and his groupies around the whole goddamn wizarding world and a few failed relationships with girls who were solely after his known name and the stacks of galleons in his vault, so even as an adult he wasn't completely sure whether he preferred one to the other in any particular manner. Well, he supposed he'll have to find out the hard way.

 

_One has to pay their rent, Scabby. It's a sure, mostly quick and well paying way of earning money, and you might even start to enjoy it, like Poppy here did._ Queen stood up and gestured at Bonnie to hide his family jewels away from general sight. _Now get up, say goodbye to the crew and follow me, I'll take you to see Cat and the lot. They are so excited to meet you._

 

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how Harry Potter, aged 18, the ex-saviour of the wizarding world and The Boy Who Lived started his career as a whore. His family would have been proud.


	3. III

Harry Potter was enjoying the ride in the black BMW with it's windows darkened to the point where he couldn't tell whether it was the Big Ben that was repainted grey, or was it just his eyes being deceived by the filter. He hasn't been to London too many times, apart from the occasional trips to the Zoo when it was Dudley's birthday or when he was travelling to King's Cross to take the Hogwarts' Express. It was quite exciting for him to go past Trafalgar Square and down Oxford Street, seeing all of those rich people coming out with huge Chanel or Prada bags out of Old Bond Street and inspecting the alternative group of people chanting 'Hare Krishna' in the space between McDonald's and one of the countless souvenir shops.

 

After a few more minutes the car took a final turn and the engine was smoothly turned off. Harry followed as everyone got out and silently walked towards a restaurant called Mariposa. Apparently that meant 'butterfly' in some sort of a language, because there was a butterfly in the logo of the place. It seemed quite warm and welcoming, and was full to brinks, with a queue lining up in front of the door. Without any words said, the security guard let the group through and into the establishment.

 

They didn't take a table, however, and that much was to be expected, Harry thought. A cough or two escaped his mouth as they passed through the area for smokers and he spotted a group of business people, all in ironed suits and ties, sipping on white wine. He wondered if he will be asked to serve one of those men in the future. They looked like they would pay well for such a service.

 

The group, led by Queen and a butch, hairless macho of an unknown identity walked through the bar and the kitchen, breaking every single possible health and safety rule possible, through to the backyard and up the fire escape stairs, until they reached solid, thick black door with no handle, but only a lock. Typical for London. Without having to knock, the door was opened by a wave of smoke and a petite girl with long, black hair and a tanned complexion. Italian or Spanish, she must have been. She looked a lot more classy than the girls back at the house, Harry thought, as he examined her cream, body-hugging dress. But by the tattoos covering her whole body and face he guesssed she was one of the mob as well. _Right on time, as always. We can always count on you in that matter, Queen._

 

Queen returned a smile and stepped through the door. Harry and the rest followed. _I try my best. Where are they?_ It was a weird custom for people to take of their coats but not their shoes. Not wanting to stand out, Harry shook off his new, leather jacket, courtesy of Bonnie, and followed Queen who trailed off down the long corridor. On both sides it was lined with doors, reminding Harry more of a hotel than a house, but at least this one was lit. Maybe, because there weren't any windows here. Finally, Queen pushed open the last door on the right and the pair stepped through. Only now Harry noticed that the rest didn't follow.

 

The new room he has just discovered felt like the Chamber of Secrets after Ty and the rest of the crew have given it an Extreme Makeover – Hogwarts edition. Harry had to blink a few times before he accepted the presence of huge, sphynx-like cat statues in white and gold, carpets which looked like they were handmade and not by some poor fellow in India, but an experienced carpet maker, and for once everything seemed to match in some way or the other. Harry felt like everything in this room had a purpose, and he enjoyed that feeling.

 

That is, until he nearly had a heart attack when, with a slightly terrifying noise, one of the biggest statues started to spin around, revealing a tall, slender figure in its lap after half a turn. This must be Cat, Harry thought, and then congratulated himself on winning the award of Captain Obvious of the year. What he found peculiar about that figure is that you couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, no matter how long you stared and observed. From far away, despite the cigarette smoke fogging their facial features, Harry spotted numerous piercings in every possible space on the face, and where a piercing wasn't anatomically acquireable, there was tattooing which immitated a feline's fur. Never in his life had Harry Potter seen a sight like this.

 

Queen grabbed Harry by the wrist and yanked him forward, while at the same time shutting the door with her foot. The sound of the door closing made him flinch. Why was he scared? Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world who has died once already was scared of an androgenous cat look-a-like and closing door. Brilliant. He wondered how Voldemort would feel if he found out that a pair of Muggle doors is more petrifying than he ever was. His contemplation over Tom Riddle's supposed depression was halted as he heard his name being mentioned in a conversation.

 

… _Harry Potter, so I brought him here. I'm wondering if that scar of his will have a bad influence on the profits._ Queen glanced at where the lighting bolt presented itself on Harry's forehead with material worry in her eyes. Harry didn't blame her for not knowing the story behind the mark, not realising that in the wizarding world there were plenty of people who would pay fat sums just to have a picture taken with the famous Harry Potter. _Maybe we should just cover it up with foundation and powder, it's not big so it should cover well._

 

_I'm thankful for your insight, Queen, but you will find that we might just have hit the jackpot with this one._ Cat rose up from the seat and the cloud surrounding their face followed. It was almost inhumane, the amount of smoke and the shape which it took, perfectly shielding the face from every angle. It seemed like... Magic, really. _First, I want to have a word with Mr. Potter on his own, you see. Just to confirm some... Thoughts which I have had about him._

 

The brunette girl nodded her head and was gone in an instant. Harry wondered if it was common to eavesdrop in this setting. Maybe it was amongst the lower-rank members, but he didn't think someone as high up as Cat would allow for something like that. His fringe was pushed back by a medium-sized hand and one of Cat's thumbs ran over his bolt. _It's definitely genuine. Ah, how small the world is, isn't it, Harry?_

 

Harry was having one of those feelings where you find a knot tied in your stomach or you feel like a ton of bricks has been discarded in it. _I'm not completely sure I understand what you mean._ It was especially weird hearing statements like that from someone without a face.

 

_I vaguely remember you, like through a fog – funnily, which is probably why I recognised you in an instant._ Cat inhaled some of the cigarette and let it out. The other hand was now supporting one of the hips. _I was a Seventh Year when you came to Hogwarts. Back then I was one of those quiet people, sitting in the corner of the Dining Hall on my own, it taught me many things. One of them was to remember important faces and names. Of course, yours is not easily forgotten._

 

_Are you... Are you trying to say you're a wizard as well?_ Harry's eyes grew to the size of tennis balls, it was unbelieveable. He had no idea still who this person might be, but for the sole reason that Cat also attented Hogwarts and knew what it's like there... It was almost like finding a long lost sibiling. _Have you been shunned as well?_

 

Cat pulled out a wand from a pot which stood on a low, mahogany table, waved it and a lockcould be heard turning on the door. Colloportus it was. _I'm still in there. Here, my powers are more. I heard that shunning doesn't take away your magical powers, you just cannot access strictly magical places, correct?_

 

_I don't know, but I suppose... They took my wand so I couldn't test that._ Cat went over to a cabinet and pulled out a set of jingling keys out of the trousers' pocket. Precisely finding the one needed, they opened the door ajar, presenting racks upon racks of wands of different sizes, shapes and colours. _What the hell, did you rob Ollivander's or something?_

 

_My hobby is wand making, I would say I'm quite good at it by now._ A gesture asked Harry to step closer to the gallery. _Remember that a wand chooses you, not the other way around. Test those, take your time, wait for the perfect match._ Cat returned to the seat which they previously occupied and payed close attention to every wand which the boy chose and the reaction he got from the magical object.

 

Harry thought wands were something you wouldn't understand the importance of until you have had one of your own. At this precise moment in time, his view on the matter changed slightly – you wouldn't understand the significance of wands unless you have had yours taken away and then were able to acquire a new one. He felt like he was eleven all over again, despite wands continously rejecting him. After around fifteen minutes and roughly seventy wands even Cat ran out of patience.

 

_What was your original wand?_ They queried, pulling out a long drawer from underneath the cabinet. It was full of boxes labeled 'oak', 'pear', 'unicorn's tail' and so on. Was Harry about to witness wand making for the first time? He felt more excited than before his first ever Quidditch match.

 

_Holly, phoenix feather, 11 inches._ Harry watched cautiously as Cat began to scan the inventory.

 

_Impressive size. Have you heard of the Muggle preconception that a man's nose and feet determine his size?_ They asked while cutting a holly branch to size. Harry nodded weakly, mesmerized by the workshop in front of him. _In the wizarding world apparently the size of the wand determines that. For women they haven't specified what it reflects, unfortunately._

 

_That would make Lucius Malfoy quite impressive._ Harry thought aloud, getting a snigger from the wand maker. A sudden outburst of magical power ran through the room and through the whole of Harry as Cat placed the ready wand in his hand. It felt as if he was finally reunited with a long lost friend. _I don't know how to thank you._

 

_Make me a lot of money. That should settle the deal._ Cat closed up everything and returned to the cat statue. Young Potter wondered whether it's comfortable sitting there or do you just get used to the bumps and the coldness. _Now, there's no time to waste, orders for you have already started piling in. Don't be surprised to see some familiar faces from the wizarding world. A lot of people chose to live like me, in between the two worlds, and some quit voluntarily. From what I know this one should be interesting..._

 

Harry took the piece of paper from Cat and read its content. It was just an address, somewhere in the City, but there was no name on it. He supposed it would be a surprise then. With all of his might he was hoping that his first customer, or, as a matter of fact, any customer, wouldn't turn out to be Augustus Filch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews would be much appreciated, as they help me improve my writing.


	4. IV

In the space of a few hours Harry Potter has visited more bathrooms, shops and beauty parlours than he thought existed. He always knew there was a side of him which called towards being a diva, and today that part of his identity was out, being flaunted and loving it. After getting his hair slightly trimmed and his glasses swapped for 24 hours contact lenses, the butch macho driver drove him around designer stores in central London. The gang clearly was no petty thing, being personally tended to at every shop as soon as they stepped through the door. A few months ago Harry would have probably protested, but currently he was more than passive about feminine clothes being thrown on him time and time again until the perfect combination was acquired. Mr Muscles said it was because long term clients had known preferences, and so they were gearing Harry up to the exact standards of the customer.

 

Not to be mean or anything, but what sort of a person orders a male prostitute, dressed in skinny jeans, a salmon, glittery top from Gucci, a huge, leopard print fur which doubled Harry in size and Louboutins which took thirty minutes of practice to get used to. As a goodbye from Macho Man, Harry received a Chanel shopping bag and was told to check the contents once inside. Apparently he was to be picked up in two hours. Young Potter seriously and desperately hoped that the client won't last that long, because his virgin arsehole might just not take that.

 

Harry swallowed hard and glanced from side to side. A group of Japanese tourists was shamelessly taking a picture of him, so he waved at them, hoping that this will scare them away. Unfortunately, the tourists just got closer and closer, until they huddled around Harry like groupies.

 

_Oh,_ Harry thought. _They must be thinking I'm some sort of a British celebrity or something._ The boy became all eyes and smiles, even signing a few autographs, until the crowd vanished instantly in a wave of panic. Confused, Harry looked around, only to find a tall, butch blonde with a shirt two sizes too small and a dick probably two sizes too big, holding a gun in his left hand.

 

_Get a move on, Kitty, you being late looses us money._

 

The boy just nodded and, accompanied by the clickety-click of his three-thousand-pounds shoes, a perfectly fitting size nine, entered the hotel's lobby. It was all gold and money, like imagine taking all the galleons out of the vaults in Gringott's and making furniture out of them, clearly the central fountain was not from IKEA. Harry opened the Chanel bag he was clutching and, aside from the numerous sex toys he had no idea existed, noticed a small envelope. Inside it was a letter addressed to the receptionist at the hotel. Reluctantly, he walked over to the table, smoothly escaping the near death experience of catching his heel on the carpets.

 

Out of nowhere a beautiful, model-like concierge, dressed all in black appeared, showcasing two rows of perfectly straight and stunningly white teeth. Harry began to get the impresion that everyone in this bloody Muggle world was beautiful and it pissed him off. He remembered Ginny and her awful complexion which could have been completely avoided if only he went to a secondary school rather than Hogwarts. But what has been done cannot be undone, and the boy happily followed the woman to the lifts and up to the twenty-first, the last, floor.

 

Turns out some people liked living it big. The last floor was just one apartment, with a private corridor and a separate room service. Harry thought that the general rule was that the richer a person, the fatter, older and uglier they are. He was hoping his client was at least clean – he was made to shower three times in the space of an hour, so he was expecting the same in return.

 

The door swung open and Harry was welcomed into a living room obviously stolen from Buckingham Palace, Potter could swear he could still smell the royal smell of the Queen's buttocks, but there was no one in sight. The boy put down his collection of gadgets and inspected himself in the huge, golden mirror hung over a chest of drawers. The image of the boggart-turned-Professor-Snape came to his mind and he chuckled involuntarily. From the corner of his eye he saw something move and jumped up in shock. Yes, Harry James Potter was becoming a little pussy, and the high heels were not helping him with looking masculine.

 

Leaning against the wall in a silk, silver robe, stood a man. And not just any man. This man had the most perfect cheekbones which Harry had ever had the chance to see with his own eyes. He stood at at least six foot three, and looked like he was no more that a few years older than Harry. Somehow that put him at ease and he actually started to look forward to his job.

 

_Is it this time already?_ The man ran his hand through his untamed, dark blonde hair and smiled apologetically. _I'm sorry, my internal clock is completely out of sync. Take a seat, I'll just get myself dressed quickly._ Harry wondered why the fuck was that person getting dressed if, from what he knew, having sex needed as little fabric as possible, but he decided not to question it out loud. Instead, he admired those long, muscly legs, covered with just the perfect amount of black hair. But what settled the deal for Harry was when he slipped off his robe and revealed broad shoulders, muscly arms and back and a big, tight arse crowned by Versace boxers.

 

At this point Harry Potter, aged 18, decided that he is definitively gay. Or at least bi with a tipped preference. Through the sounds of running water and the sudden thickness of steam escaping the nearby shower room, Harry daydreamed about what his ex-friends were doing at this precise moment, what was happening in the Wizarding World. Although he didn't long to return, except for a few moments in the blistering cold when he was begging for change to get himself some diluted and over-sugared tea, he wished he knew what was going on, or better yet, how was the world coping _without_ him.

 

On the side table, a beautiful piece of work with silver legs and a crystal top, the boy noticed a stack of unopened envelopes, crowned by the name 'Matthew Cummings', followed by the hotel's address. How fitting that name was, Harry chuckled at his own thought. His internal monologue was halted by a sharp pain to his scar and a wet, male body, appearing in front of him with just a towel hoisted up around the hips. As Matthew began to slip on and button up a crisp, baby blue dress shirt, he turned to Harry. _I hope you're hungry. Do you like Japanese cuisine?_

 

_I haven't had the opportunity to try it yet. But I'm not very picky about food._ He smiled, feeling like a school girl, with his hands knitted together in his lap. Somehow he wished he could just get fucked and leave. Clearly, that was the job of the ordinary whores.

 

_Good, I've booked us a table in the restaurant just a few floors down._ Matthew zipped up his dark grey trousers and hugged them with a black, leather belt. With a last look into the mirror he ran his huge hand through his hair and walked up to Harry, extending his arm in his direction. _May I?_

 

Involuntarily Harry blushed. Feeling a bump in his throat all he did was nod as he wrapped the palm of his hand around the strong, slightly muscular forearm. The man was more attractive than a naked Cho Chang, and that said a lot, seeing as the girl has one of the hottest bodies in Hogwarts. Harry wasn't falling in love with the man – what he found was, he simply craved his dick like it was the last Horcrux.

 

A few minutes and a short elevator ride later, the pair found themselves at an 'authentic Japanese restaurant', or so it said next to the place's actual name, which was written only in Japanese kanji. It was semi-full, filled enough to prove it was a good place to eat at, but still offering privacy. Greeted by the maitre d', Harry and his sugar daddy took seats opposite each other at a hardwood table. Inn front of them laid two menus and two drink cards. The two browsed the papers for a while, exchanging some acknowledging statements and finally settled for their choices. The waiter, a short, young man with dark blonde hair and deep, green eyes, appeared out of nowhere and took down their orders. He vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

 

_Your name is Harry, correct?_ Matthew asked, pushing his set of chopsticks an inch to the right and straightening his napkin. The boy nodded in response, receiving a smile. _I've heard you're only new to this business, please, don't feel constrained. Just because I'm paying for this doesn't mean you have to act. Relax._ Harry slipped off his fur as the heating finally hit him, and continued to smile. _Are you not going to say anything?That's fine, I can do with a monologue._

 

_No, no, it's just..._ The boy swallowed hard and took a deep breath. _I'm just really scared that I'm going to say something that you won't appreciate, and after all, I'm here to make you feel good,right?_

 

Matthew laughed gently and put his hand over Harry's much smaller one in an affectionate matter. _Don't you worry, I don't get offended easily. Ah, I see our food is coming._

 

Not the only thing we'll see coming today, Harry thought, but then quickly shook off that thought from his mind. Why was he so excited in being a whore and sleeping with a man he only met not even half an hour ago? For godness sake, he was Harry Potter! The guy who didn't let anyone fuck with him, and now he was going to get fucked by some rich papa just because that prevents him from sleeping in the streets? It was mad. He didn't want to be like this – maybe this was the way he always was. At least no one he knew would see him here. What a ride that would be for the people who hated him if they found out that The Boy Who Lived is sleeping with Muggles for money!

 

His internal angst was calmed by the appetising smell of his meal, a Japanese dish called sukiyaki. Matthew ordered a different dish, Harry had no clue what it was or what it was called, and both of the men had a glass of sake by the side of their plates. The boy found that this exotic beverage was slightly more pleasant to his taste buds than the butterbeer served at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmead, but it sure was a hell of a lot more expensive. Not wanting to get completely smashed, Harry took only a small sip at a time, followed by many portions of his dish.

 

_So, how old are you, Harry?_

 

Oh no, the small talk. Harry hated small talk, partially because it was a waste of time and partially because he absolutely sucked at it. _Eighteen. Well, eighteen and a bit, my birthday is in July._

 

_So you're a Leo? Interesting. I'm a Sagittarius, we're meant to go well together romantically._

 

That guy was smooth. _I suppose. I was never good with divination and stuff like that._ The cause of that being Professor Trelawney's spooky glasses and a pushy way of being, as well as the firm belief that it was more beneficial to care about the present than about the future. _What do you do for a living, Matthew?_

 

_I'm a top lawyer._ Harry eyed him curiously, seeing that as dodgy because of the man's young age. _Family business, but I did get a degree at Harvard, so I feel like I deserve where I am._ Matthew took a bite of his food and chewed it with upmost precision. Then he cleared his throat. _So why are you doing this?_

 

_Long story._ That seemed to be Harry's excuse for anything that happened to him during the course of his life. Him getting the scar – long story, because you would have to explain about Voldemort and wizards and shit like that. Him being shunned from the magical world – long story, because you would have to go through his whole life up till the age of fifteen to understand why he hated his aunt, uncle and cousin so much. Finally, _this_ – you have to explain the aforementioned and then the whole story of him living in the streets for three months. Not something he really wanted to get into over a hundred-pounds dinner.

 

One of his chopsticks fell out of his unpracticed hand. Harry picked it up swiftly and continued picking his food up. From the corner of his eye he could see Matthew staring at him and thinking. The boy gave him a questioning look, as his mouth was full with rice. _Sometimes I wish I could do what you do._ At this point, a grain of rice fell down the wrong hole and Harry started to choke. A few coughs later he was fine, but looked like his face was replaced by a tomato.

 

_I'm sorry, but why do you say that? I mean,_ Harry coughed once again and inhaled deeply, wiping away the tears that came out of his eyes. _You seem pretty good where you are, a career, good lifestyle, and you're pretty good looking as well, why would you waste yourself on something like-._

 

Harry was cut off mid-sentence by the default Samsung Galaxy ringtone. With an apologetic look on his face Matthew picked up the phone. _Hello? Yes. Yes. No. Sorry honey, I have to stay longer at the office today, that celebrity divorce we're doing right now, the trial is next week and we still haven't typed up the protocols. I'm sorry. Yes, I know it's our anniversary in two days, I have everything planned out. Okay. Okay. Kiss Grace good-night from me. Yes, love you, bye bye._

 

The brunette boy replayed that conversation in his head until the pair finished their meal and returned to the top floor suite. From there on it didn't take long for Matthew to get a move on. Not knowing how much time was left Harry just let him do whatever he wanted with him, also because he was unexperienced and wasn't really sure what to do anyway.

 

All of his worries were shut off as Matthew captured Harry's lips with his own, sucking on them like there was no tomorrow. Both sets of arms travelled around the two bodies and soon enough Harry's top was off, followed by Matthew's shirt, and then both of their trousers. When they were left standing in just boxers, the older man pushed the other on the huge, king-sized bed and continued on kissing. After what seemed like hours of mindless snogging and groping, Matthew threw Harry on top. _You know what to do, right?_ He huffed, chest falling and rising heavily, matching his breathing. The boy just nodded and slowly lowered himself down the bed, finally reaching the bump in between the legs.

 

First, he caressed it through the expensive fabric with his fingers, one, then two, then the whole hand, squeezing and receiving appreciative grunts in return. Feeling a bit braver, he slid off the boxers and was welcomed by a large, thick cock, the kind you see in porn films. Harry began by pumping it with his fist, but soon felt the urge to put it in his mouth. Gently, he spat on it and with his lips began to spread the moisture all over the penis. He didn't even notice when he picked up the pace. He didn't notice when hos tongue joined in. He certainly did _not_ notice when Matthew's hand found itself amongst his hair and pushed him down, making him take the whole thing in. It made the weirdest sound ever, but apparently made the man feel good.

 

The dick began twitching and arching in the caves of Harry's mouth, and that's when the older man decided it was time for a change. In this state he seemed a lot more rough, dominating even. Matthew pulled Harry up by his hips and slid off his boxers, revealing a small but plump behind. The boy shook at the sudden sensation of the man's tongue on his hole, licking it like there was no tomorrow. Involuntarily, Harry let out a moan of pleasure and arched slightly to push his arse closer to his partner's mouth.

 

Harry grunted when Matthew pulled away and he quickly searched for him with his eyes. The man was digging around in the bedside table's drawers, finally pulling out a bottle. He unscrewed it, put a generous amount of it on his fingers and returned to his previous position.

 

_What's that?_ Harry asked, a bit cautious.

 

_Lube. It makes it all a lot easier._ Matthew replied but Harry's mind was already elsewhere, focusing on the cold gel filling his insides, accompanied by the pleasurable, rhythmic movements of Matthew's fingers. He moaned and grunted and huffed, trying to contain his pleasure. _Moan loud if you want, I enjoy it._

 

And so he did. Harry stopped biting down on his lip, instead letting out the moans that begged to escape his mouth, as he helped those penetrating fingers by pushing himself back onto them. Just as he thought it couldn't get any better and his dick throbbed, Matthew pulled out and browsed through the bag which Harry brought with himself. From it, he pulled out a red object. Upon closer inspection Harry realised it was an artificial hand. Matthew pushed it into Harry's mouth for lubrication and once satisfied began to push it into Harry's virgin arsehole. It was a bit painful but pleasurable at the same time. Not being able to help himself, Harry grabbed his cock with one of his hands an started pumping at it violently, feeling like he was about to come.

 

_You're not about to finish yet, are you?_ Matthew pulled on his hair and lowered his face to get his mouth in level with young Potter's ear. _You have to let me get my satisfaction as well. I think you've had enough preparation now..._

 

Matthew took a quick pause to slide a condom on and then, without any warning, started to push his way into Harry. It felt bad at first and he screamed, tears rolling down his cheeks, but soon, bit by bit, entrance was granted, and he yelled in joy everytime that cock hit his prostate. Harry saw stars in front of his eyes, he couldn't think of anything else apart from the movement and the sounds they were making. He picked up the pace with which he pumped his own dick, as he began feeling weak around the knees and neck, but Matthew's strong hands held him up by the hips.

 

It took the men a few more minutes before they came to a finish, Harry decorated the sheets while Matthew filled the boy from the inside. They stayed in the position for a while, panting and breathing heavily, after which Matthew rolled off and got off the bed. Harry browsed for his boxers and before he managed to finish putting them on completely, a roll of twenty-pound notes landed next to his thigh. _My time's up. You better hurry up, they're waiting for you outside._

 

Harry just noded and dressed quickly, gathering his posessions. As quickly as he could he left the suite and jumped on the lift. Only now did embarassment really hit him. He just lost his virginity to some rich kid in a hotel room. Sure, it was an expensive hotel and he took him out to eat beforehand but still. As he descended down the floors he counted the notes. One, two, three... Five hundred pounds for shagging with someone's husband. Someone's father.

 

Harry sunk to the floor, face in hands, devastated by what he had just done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the story, please recommend it to your friends! :)


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